Quiet Riot
by Angel Leviathan
Summary: The day he didn’t return through the Gate…she changed.
1. Homecoming

Title: Quiet Riot

Author: Angel Leviathan

Disclaimer: Atlantis, the characters, concept, etc, aren't mine.

Spoilers: Anything, everything.

Season: Future

Notes: None.

* * *

The day he didn't return through the 'Gate…she changed. 

She was silent for many days, always walking the corridors of the city. She didn't curse his fate or sob that a fine man had been lost. As far as anybody was concerned, she hadn't shed a single tear. She gave her orders as calmly as ever and refused to rise to attempts to make her break down for her own good, responding to accusations that she felt nothing with a soulless gaze and an empty voice.

She didn't appoint a new military officer to keep her up to date with the state of the military personnel. She did that herself. If an officer so much as sneezed, she knew about it. Missions off-world and within the city, she knew every detail. Every aspect of every plan and every move one of her people made.

She threw herself into her work, ensuring that the city ran without incident, settling arguments with a firm hand that nobody dared question. When they did question her, it was only further attempts to provoke a reaction, a reaction they believed was long overdue. She still refused to provide them with an answer as to her emotional wellbeing.

When she picked up a gun, her people started to worry. When she accompanied teams off-world on a regular basis, they were concerned. When she was seen with a handgun constantly strapped to her thigh, they were stunned. She had always insisted that diplomacy took precedent over military action. Now she had armed herself. Against what? Her heart? The enemies she feared would destroy her city?

She trained with Teyla until she was confident she could defend herself against an attacker with enough skill to save her life. She demanded Ford instruct her in the use of various weaponry. She ignored the glances and frantic whispers that surely meant she was slowly losing her mind. Ignored the subtle hints that perhaps she should grieve and get on with her life. They had no idea.

She came through the 'Gate with blood on her hands once, leaving her personnel in a state of shock. When questioned, she simply replied that the situation 'had turned bad'. Had she killed? Was she hurt herself? Had she tried to save another? She wasn't hurt. The cart of her weapon was missing several bullets. The subject was dropped.

What not one member of her city's community knew was that she_ had_ grieved, the day he hadn't returned she had wept bitterly over the loss of her closest friend, and had smacked her fist through a glass panel. In the Infirmary she had declared that she fell, tripped over and stumbled against the glass, somehow fist first. Whether they believed her or not, she didn't care.

She had a choice.

She could let herself sink in the mind-numbing grief she felt eating away at her.

Or she could make him proud.

Show that he had taught her well. That his shouting pleas that she learn to shut her heart away when it mattered had hit home. Ensure she could defend herself and her city. Match her people's bravery and courage, not be the one always waiting for them behind a desk. She might flinch every time she touched a weapon and she might shake when she pulled the trigger, but nobody noticed. And to her, that was what mattered. She smiled when it was appropriate and laughed when she thought she could, trained her mind to think on two levels, trained her body to react faster than she ever thought it could. She hoped he'd be proud of what she'd accomplished. …Though always in the back of her mind was the thought that he might be utterly disgusted by the changes she had forced upon herself. Except, she mourned, it was too late. She couldn't go back.

So, six months later, when she read an old GDO signal being sent through the 'Gate, against her better judgement, she let the traveller through.

John Sheppard didn't know the woman before him clutching a P-90 and aiming directly for him.

Elizabeth wasn't even sure she knew herself.


	2. Disbelief

He was there. 

He was right there in front of me.

I couldn't move. Why couldn't I move? Why did my finger actually _tighten_ around the trigger of the gun I gripped like it was a lifeline? He was right there and I…wasn't ready to believe it.

"Elizabeth?" he breathed.

I managed to lower the P-90 slightly, but couldn't stop staring. Coldly. It could have been a trick. I could have been asleep. I'd dreamt of his return many times, many different scenarios, but then, I'd also dreamt of his death. Of finding his body, waking at my own scream of denial. So _no_. I _wasn't_ ready to believe it. I'd read all the records of the SGC and we'd had quite enough experiences of our own for me to learn to be cautious. It was then I noticed that nobody around me had moved. They had all seemed to be holding their breath. What were they expecting me to do? Run and throw myself into his arms? Break down there and then and sob my heart out? I clenched my jaw and finally lowered the gun all the way. "Stand down," I ordered the men around me.

"Your GDO?" I questioned, all too calmly.

He held it out, searching my face for…anything.

I snatched it off him, turning away. "Get this checked out," I called up to the command centre, holding the device up.

"Elizabeth…?" he repeated.

I slowly turned back to face him, carefully forming a relaxed indifference before I looked up at him. He wasn't even wearing his uniform. Foreign clothes. What did I expect? Battered, bruised and with dirt coating at least half of him, he stared back. Still searching. Disappointment. I knew that look. I'd shot it at a fair few people in my time, mostly leaders of obstinate nations. Don't believe what you see. Don't take anything at face value. Don't trust that the thing you want most has just stumbled through the Stargate.

…Shit…he…he…couldn't find…what…or who…he was looking for…

Bemused expression on his face.

"Get him to the Infirmary," I stated, one hand curling into a fist, nails drawing blood in my palm as I refused to let any crushing realizations take over. I trotted swiftly up the stairs to the command centre, placing the GDO on the nearest surface, and ignored the stunned looks from my personnel. Not _our_ personnel, _mine_. I'll cry on my own time, thank you.

"Elizabeth...!" he shouted as he was escorted away.

I refused to look back.

You see, the moment I realized he really wasn't coming back, I didn't know what to do. I had no idea. It was just me now, my decisions alone, and who was I to turn to when I honestly needed _help?_ Not just a second opinion, not just another voice, but _help_, as a leader and as a person. As me. The moment he was gone, the decision I had been trying to make was suddenly made for me. It was one of those times when you think you've just managed to come to what you think will be the right conclusion, and you might just act on it, you're just working up to it, and then the choice is taken _from_ you and the decision made _for you_. And no matter how much you fight to get back to the point where you knew what you were going to do, you can't. You can't even remember making the choice. You've convinced yourself it was the wrong choice in the first place. So you never even considered it. He was taken away from me and the decision was made. I no longer had a say in the matter.

But here he was again.

No, no, it wasn't right to believe that he was here again. Until DNA and every scan Beckett could perform proved that the man who had recently been standing before me…hating me…was John Sheppard, I wouldn't believe it.

I would have escaped to my office, if the walls weren't so see-through. Who designs an office with glass walls? Surely they must have realized that most people seek sanctuary in their office. But I wasn't allowed that. I had to seek it in my quarters. I dropped the P-90 into the arms of the nearest military personnel. "Inform me when Beckett has some answers," I called over my shoulder, making my way down the other stairs.

I ignored the silence that still hung over the room as I exited it. They were becoming common these days. At least they'd stopped trying to get me to talk. I was at least grateful for that.

However, I'd briefly forgotten that my quarters were where his personal effects were stored. Four months after his disappearance I'd finally taken it upon myself to empty his quarters.

Four months after the day Teyla, Rodney and Aiden had returned together, alone, declaring they honestly had no idea where Major Sheppard was. They didn't escape unscathed.

I loathed myself for the brief moment in which I hated them for not ensuring he returned home too.

Two boxes were hidden under my bed and another in the depths of what served as a wardrobe. If I didn't have to see what had once been his, then I didn't have to once again fight the urge to cry. Because I wasn't going to lose that battle again and have the anger and grief claim me. I had been in the depths of the city at the time, and still nobody has found the smashed panel. I have the scars running down my wrist where glass refused to leave my body without a fight.

Strangely enough, the boxes no longer caused me grief. Weeks ago I had realized that not one of the items in any of the boxes reminded me of who he was. They were his possessions, yes, but not one of them defined _who_ he was. They told me what he loved, what he wanted to remember…little else.

"_Doctor Weir?"_

Carson's voice rang through the comm system. "Yes?" I replied, a little too quietly for my own liking.

"_We'd appreciate it if you'd come down to the Infirmary."_

"…I'll be right there."

That was quick.


	3. Reunion

She remained outside the Infirmary, warily watching what was occurring inside, somewhat envious of the ready smiles of her team - no, wait, _his_ team - around him. …And the way he grinned right back at them. Six months and he hadn't forgotten how to use that smirk to his advantage. Elizabeth briefly wondered if the expression was as much of a defence mechanism as some of her reassuring smiles had been to those around her. Still, she refused to enter the room and let herself believe what she had convinced herself was impossible. Thankfully, Beckett saw her before the others in the room did, too busy crowding round his infirmary bed. Yes. That was envy alright, flaring up again. 

"Doctor Weir?"

If she thought hissing at him to keep his voice down would have made a difference, she would have done it in a second. As it was, Elizabeth affected indifference, tilting her head. "Carson?"

He met her at the door. "You want to know-"

"If that's Major Sheppard or not, yes." She nodded.

"A bit worse for wear, but he still reads as the Major. Right down to his Ancient gene." Beckett glanced over his shoulder. "And to be honest, if that's anyone but John Sheppard, they're doing a bloody good impression."

Elizabeth heard Aiden's laughter in the background and smiled softly. "You're sure?" She stared across at the Doctor, as if trying to read his mind. She had no such luck.

"Short of dissecting him-"

"That won't be necessary," she assured him, trying to inject humour into her tone. It was a weak attempt if she said so herself.

"And I'd hate to have to form a one man mutiny." He shot her a grin.

Elizabeth tried to return the smile and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you." She didn't voice the fact that she silently agreed that he, and quite a few others, would have had every right over the past few months. As she drew her hand back, she started, realizing she'd left a trace of blood on his uniform. This time she wasn't fast enough to cover her tracks. Damn her nails for being so sharp.

"…And when might you have done that, Elizabeth?" Carson said quietly.

"It's nothing," she insisted.

"In your opin-"

"I'm fine, Carson, really. I dropped an ornament in my quarters just now; it shattered. I got down here as fast as I could, you said I was-" She was babbling and she knew it. Damn.

"Just make sure you come see me once we're done here, understand?" he interrupted.

"I will," she promised, lying and regretting further deception, when all he wanted to do was help her. Elizabeth nodded and finally forced herself to approach the bed, cringing inside when the group fell silent as she joined them.

McKay was the first to speak, noting she was staring anywhere but at anybody. "I…things to do, theories to prove…" he began. "Good to have you back," he said absently, quickly, before exiting rather swiftly.

"I never knew he cared," John quipped.

"The people here care for you a great deal, Major Sheppard," Teyla said quietly. "Ourselves included." She touched his shoulder. "I shall leave you to rest." She glanced across at Ford, who quickly caught on.

"Yeah, we'd better leave you to it, Sir. You could do with a break." Aiden tried a grin. "McKay was right though. Welcome back, Sir." He followed Teyla away, at a far more sedate pace than Rodney's escape.

"It's good to be back," John answered, almost shouting after them to stay. Anything to stop him having to look into the eyes of the woman he thought he knew. He frowned as he looked her up and down, gaze resting on the handgun strapped to her thigh. Since when did she carry a weapon? Let alone brandish such things as the P-90 she had been waving around earlier.

"Hello, John," she said softly, eyes narrowed ever so slightly, studying him, as he had been her.

"Hey." He didn't use her name, for in the few minutes he had spent with her, he found the woman he thought he knew strangely absent.

"How are you?" Elizabeth mentally cursed herself to hell and beyond; small talk. Smart move.

He shifted awkwardly. "I've seen better days." _'And so have you,' _he thought.

"…I can tell." Her voice was quiet and she suddenly wouldn't make eye contact.

"How have you been?" John questioned, attempting to keep up the excuse for a conversation.

"I've been…" she stopped, "…okay. I've done some thinking, taken some training. People must be sick of me by now." Her faint laugh sounded more like choking. She exhaled, looking back at him. "We did look for you, you know."

"So I hear." He smiled.

"A lot," Elizabeth added.

"Must have been a risk," he commented.

She was about to reply, but kept it to a nod. She suddenly felt a desperate need to escape. Why was it so difficult? Had she changed that much? Or was it him?

"Eliza-"

"I've got to get back," she interrupted, as if she hadn't heard him. "I've got a team due back, and if all went well, I'll be heading back to the planet with them." Elizabeth nodded again, more to herself than him.

He bobbed his head. "Guess I'll see you when I get out of here," he mused aloud.

She was already halfway across the Infirmary. "Yes. Yes, you will." She halted at the door, finally turning back. "…It's good to have you home, Major."

"It-" John sighed; she had escaped before he could answer. He shook his head. "Doc?" he called.

Beckett returned from his office with a frown. "What's wrong, Major?"

He was still staring at the door, somewhat confused. "…What…I mean…Doctor Weir, she…"

"She made some decisions about her life." Carson tried to explain what he only vaguely understood the details of. "Some we approve of…some we aren't so thrilled about. She's been training with Teyla, leaned how to use the weapons we brought with young Aiden." He gave a half-hearted shrug. "She's good. If she were a soldier under your command, you'd be proud."

"But she's _not_ a soldier under my command," John stressed. "She's not a soldier at all."

Beckett sighed. "Then I think you're in for quite a shock, son."


	4. Leave Me Alone

Who was I kidding? Did I expect to just waltz in there and make everything okay? Had he been sleeping, I would have preferred it, just so I could sit and study him without him doing the same in return. He must think I'm crazy. Subjecting him to tests because I just wouldn't believe… 

Maybe I'm expecting to wake up any time soon. At least I'm honest and I admit the dreams were the worst part. But, of course, that doesn't mean I'll stop dreaming now. Maybe I'm afraid of that. I don't know. You wonder what your subconscious can tell you, wondering why you can never quite hang onto the images and scenarios that haunt your sleeping hours, yet you always somehow manage to cling to the worst of them. He'd be standing there, about to be gunned down, and I'd be only a few metres away. Except I couldn't move. When I finally managed to, it would always be at that moment that the bullets would hit him. Sometimes they'd hit me too, and as much as it scares me to admit, that was often more comforting. Then there were the good dreams, or so I believe I should call them, even if I've woken more often with tears than I'd care to admit. The ones where we were making love and it's not _just_ sex, as I was always afraid it might be. I suppose that proves I'm somewhat delusional. I stayed quiet too long and I lost my chance, though I suppose the mind will do what it can to try and heal itself in whatever way it can. Because I can't get back to that place anymore. Even if I tried to say those words to him they would come out wrong...because it wouldn't be me saying them anymore.

I returned to my quarters, taking the corridors I hoped would be empty. I had no such luck. I managed a polite nod to Teyla as we crossed paths, then carried right on walking. I heard her footsteps stop - I was could almost feel her staring after me - and somehow I managed not to quicken my pace in an attempt to escape. I'm tired. I'm tired of hiding and hoping that one day this will seem natural. I walked right past her, when I was fully aware that she was only concerned for my wellbeing. They all are. It scares me that I'm actually this content to keep them at arms length.

I picked up the first book that came to hand and began reading it. It wasn't even in English, but something I'd read so often my mind compensated; the words I was reading were not of my own language, but somehow what I saw and understood was. Sometimes I think it would be nice not to understand anything or anybody. I can speak five different languages and curse in more than I'd care to admit, but where has that got me? I can flick from English to Russian in an instant but I still don't even understand myself. Let alone others. Or him. Perhaps I do understand him and I'd rather not admit that to myself.

The book wasn't distracting me enough. It's hard to concentrate on a distraction when all you're aware of is the fact that you're trying to create such a distraction. I was tempted to throw the book across the room, but placed it down on my bed, in the manner that would be expected of me, and left my quarters.

One day I hope this act will be easier. That there will be a time when I don't realize I'm acting. I'll wake up one morning and be myself for the whole day and I wont silently loath myself for trying to change. I'm not sure whether I saw hatred or confusion in his eyes. Somehow I'd prefer the former; I'd rather he understood me and hated me than found me an enigma. What worries me is that I know I can't go back…and part of me doesn't want to. I feel stronger this way, even if it may be only superficial. People don't question my actions as much, though whether it's because they now know I'm capable or they're afraid of my reaction, I don't know. I'm no psychologist, but I think it would be more worrying if I thought this was the real me and didn't acknowledge that this is an...effort. …Yet it's not so much of a strain anymore. I started this and I'm damn well going to finish it. I just never thought he'd have to see me like this. At least that way I could always hope I was doing the right thing and he would be proud.

That was one of the things I loved about him. He made me want to make him proud of me, and not many people have been capable of that in my life. He made me want to learn and see sides of things I'd never seen before, despite believing that my way of analysing a situation was a perfectly decent way. And…somehow…he needed me like I needed him. We were like missing pieces of each other's lives, parts of ourselves we'd never thought to investigate further. I could provoke him into an all out screaming match and he could wind me up until I just wanted to strike him, but we _fit_. Maybe it was intoxicating, the effect he had on me. I don't know whether it was love or lust, or just the knowledge that partners I thought I had loved had never had that effect on me, but he was just…

See, even now I speak of him as if he's dead, when I know he's sitting in the Infirmary, most likely cursing my name.

I headed down to the small firing range we had created when we realized we needed to train others in the use of weaponry. I swiped a blank cart from the rack at the side of the room, dropping the real bullets from my handgun and reloading it. At least I would have to focus to shoot. Or so I thought. I hit the targets almost mechanically, not caring how accurate my aim was. At least I didn't shake so much anymore.

The story about a team returning had been a lie. They weren't due back until tomorrow. But he should remain in the Infirmary for at least that long, so hopefully he'd never find out. I just needed…some time to think. To think about what, I don't know, because everything seemed to lead back to him.

I can't say I'm utterly depressed or distraught, devastatingly unhappy or on the verge of an absolute breakdown. I'm just confused. I know this is the right thing to do and I_ had_ managed to reclaim some normality until a few hours ago. I haven't lost myself by picking up a weapon and taking more control of my life.

But…

"Elizabeth?"

I whirled round, aiming wildly, finger curled round the trigger.

John Sheppard actually took a step back in shock, maybe hurt.

But…

"What are you doing?"

…Maybe I've gone too far…


	5. Another Soul

It took her several seconds to respond, and even then it was only with the words, "Target practice," as she turned away from him and lowered the handgun.

"Why?" John questioned, in an all too casual voice.

"You never know." Elizabeth raised the weapon again and took aim at the nearest target, firing a single shot. She suppressed the urge to curse; she was already so distracted that her shot had embedded itself nowhere near where she had been aiming. So much for competence with weaponry.

He was content to watch as she took aim again. John sighed. "Elizabeth?"

She froze, yet refused to look back at him.

"Come here," he called, though he moved toward her and closed the distance between them. He covered her hands with his own on the weapon, looking out over her shoulder. "…You're jerking back as you fire," he said softly, "so your shot is hitting higher than you aim for." He adjusted her grip slightly and tightened his hands over hers. "Now shoot."

Elizabeth did as she was instructed almost too quickly and found he countered the twitch she made, keeping her aim steady. She hit the target with a great deal of accuracy, but knew that was because he might as well have fired the shot himself. It was the first contact she had had with him since his return and his warmth alone confirmed that he really had returned to her. She didn't fall through him as she had the phantoms that had haunted her dreams. Not that she would ever admit to seeing them, even if only in her unconscious moments. Elizabeth turned her head slightly to look back at him. "…You should be in the Infirmary…" she whispered.

"I've perfected my 'annoy the Doc' technique," John replied, just as quietly. When she didn't respond, he abruptly released her and took several steps away.

She remained in place for several seconds, lowering her head as she lowered the gun and took a step that brought her round to face him. The gun fell from her grip and hit the floor with a clatter that echoed through the room. "…You should be in the Infirmary…" she repeated quietly. "You've been through a lot and I-"

"How would you know what I've been through?" John asked, voice soft and tone strangely absent of accusation. "You've barely spoken to me, let alone looked at me. You had me hauled off to the Infirmary before I got the chance to speak two words to you."

"Procedure dictates that-"

"Procedure dictates that you shouldn't have let me through the 'Gate at all, so let's not start on that," he interrupted. He shook his head and sat down on the floor, looking up at her.

Elizabeth took another two steps toward him and sat down cross-legged opposite him, still warily keeping her distance. She spoke first, "…What happened to you? They said you just vanished…and we looked…we searched and found nothing…"

"There were ships," he responded, "and I had wandered off to investigate alone, yeah, completely ignoring 'procedure'. Then again, I guess you would expect that of me. It was simple. They have devices that can hide a person completely; one crack on the back of my head and it was all over. And a damned hard crack it was too; they later said I had a skull fracture."

"They?" She frowned.

"The race that abducted me for the ride. I never even got to know their name; it's part of their cover." John paused. "…They take people of other planets, races, whatever, and by the time they wake you up again, you're on their homeworld. And they're claiming you're one of them, that it's your home and you've always lived there, that you've got family that love you and have missed you. Combined with the crack on the head, you damn well think you're crazy for not believing them, and they certainly make out that you are…" He exhaled.

"…Aiden, Rodney and Teyla said they were pursued back to the Stargate…" she answered, feeling it was a rather useless response.

He nodded. "They probably were, if only to scare the hell out of them. They might've been trying to nab Ford and McKay too for all I know."

Elizabeth frowned. "Why not Teyla?"

He grimaced and looked down. "…They only want men. That's the whole point of the abductions. There's a disease amongst their population that's carried on the male chromosome, half their male population were born with it, so their sons automatically inherit it…they need males from other races similar to their own to produce kids so they can ensure only a small percentage of the next generation inherit it. They need to wipe it out. They don't care about cross-breeding between races, or whether you're willing or not. That's why they try and convince you you're already one of them."

Her eyes widened. "They didn't make you-"

"No." John shook his head. "They didn't go that far. But they did try to programme me…" he trailed off. "…They nearly did it…" His voice was barely audible. "…They nearly did it…I know we're trained to fight it and just not let it sink in, but they kept on and on and on and in the end…I really thought I was crazy…"

She fought the compulsion to reach out to him and kept her hands folded in her lap. Just to make contact again…maybe it would…no. "…You don't have to contin-"

"I kept demanding to know where you were." John looked up and finally looked her in the eye. "Where anyone I knew was, anyone, but most of all you. They tried to convince me I was making it all up. I had a wife and knew nobody named 'Elizabeth'. In the end, they gave up. One day they let a woman into my room, so fucking happy with themselves..." His voice became a growl and his hands formed fists. "They'd found my Elizabeth. Now I could get on with my life. Now I could be happy." He exhaled again and seemed to crumple in on himself. "…But it wasn't you. And then I knew for sure I wasn't going insane." John shook his head. "I played along for the day, managed to knock a couple of guys at the city gates out cold and ran for the 'Gate the next day. Just ran and ran and didn't look back…"

She hated herself. It was that simple. He spent all that time being mentally abused and just because she had thought to force herself into a mindset she believed would 'help' her, she had punished him as well as herself. Elizabeth slowly reached out a hand, holding it up, palm toward him, barely inside his personal space. A faint smile passed across her face as he slowly entwined his fingers with hers, the haunted look in his eyes fading for just a second.

"…I'm sorry…" she uttered. "…I'm sorry for so many things…" She suddenly snatched her hand away and got to her feet, reclaiming her weapon as she stood. "…John, I'm…" Elizabeth looked wildly around, searching for the real bullets she had abandoned. She located them and ran to them, picking them up off the floor. "…I'm sorry…I'm not the woman you remember…" She quickly made her escape, leaving him alone in the firing range.

He didn't call out after her. John simply closed his eyes and covered them with one hand as he rolled back to the floor from his sitting position, covering his eyes with both hands. He refused to make any sound as pain, self-doubt and bitterness overtook him.

She ran along the corridor until she believed she was a safe distance away. Elizabeth sagged against the wall, trying to bring her breathing under control. He had nearly become somebody else through no choice of his own…she had forced changes upon herself. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. …Maybe…maybe they could help each other reclaim themselves… There was enough of her soul left to want to try.

But not right now.

And if that made her a coward…then so be it.


	6. Mistakes

I ran away. 

I escaped.

I fled, broke away, panicked, whatever you want to call it.

Maybe breaking down in the 'Gate room thought was a better idea. Somehow that seems like it would have been the easier option now. Even though it would have been a charade.

I can't even begin to contemplate what he's been though. Six months of mental torture? I'd rather somebody beat me for the entirety of that time than have them try and take my mind. I'd rather have somebody break my body than my mind. I think that may be what I'm afraid of most; losing my mind completely. Which is most likely why I'm scaring myself more and more lately, because I recognize things that just aren't me too often for my liking. But it's safer to take shelter in them.

I trained my body and I trained my mind. I never considered myself helpless before, even before I met him, but I had to do something to reassure myself that I could cope. He was one of the strongest people I had ever known. If he could just vanish…there was little hope for the rest of us. Little hope for me. It was easier to train my body. When I was whirling sticks around, trying to ensure Teyla couldn't hit me, I didn't have to think of anything else. Just defence and tactics, force and movement, concentrate on strike and evade. Unfortunately, as physical combat became easier, thoughts began to creep back into my attack patterns. I didn't want to _think. _I'd spent too much of my life doing that and nothing but. The first time I beat Teyla properly, she attempted to get me to talk. I knew she was trying to figure out where all my anger and hostility came from. She _knew_. She just wanted me to _say it_ out loud. I refused. I simply dropped the sticks to the ground and stalked out. Which probably wasn't the best decision I've made, considering she was then able to inform the others of my irrational behaviour. However much she cared, I didn't appreciate it.

Weapons. Something I had refused to consider or even touch in my life. Previous life. Weapons didn't solve anything, they just added more fuel to a fire that was already raging out of control. I'll admit I never understood the need to own a gun. Was it just for peace of mind, or did you actually consider using it? And then on whom? An attacker? Your enemy, or just your next door neighbour if you didn't like how they looked at you one morning? I'm still not entirely sure. Then again, I'm also still not sure why I wake screaming some nights. But now I understand the need to have a weapon, something that can protect you. You don't have to think of using it, you just have to know that you _could._ That, if anybody ever tried to hurt you again, you could silence them with a single shot. If anyone pushed you to the edge, you could fight back. If not with your mind, with your body. I still don't agree that everybody should have the right to defend themselves with a deadly weapon. I just understand that he felt the need to carry something he could protect himself and those around him with. He didn't _have _to use it and probably _wouldn't_, but he _could_ if the situation got out of hand. I wasn't about to wait for somebody to defend me. I've stared down the barrel of a gun and been told I'm about to die. Your life doesn't flash before your eyes. You're too busy thinking of all the regrets you have and ultimately shaking with fear. You can stand there perfectly still and remain perfectly composed, but inside you're shaking. You're terrified. You're not afraid of the pain or the bleeding, you're afraid of the _end_. Because you don't know what's beyond it, hell, you don't know if _anything's_ beyond it. Are all the stories you were told true? Is there really a perfect heaven waited for you? Hell? Will you haunt the Earth for eternity? You're afraid that the stories are real and you're afraid that they aren't. Somehow just an _end_ to everything seems more frightening.

My god…what am I doing? What have I done?

I ran away from the one person who might be able to save me because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to save _him_.

He said it was me that kept him sane. Not in so many words, but…but…

I took everything he told me and threw my own problems right back at him… It was hard enough for him to speak of it and I just _abandoned_ him.

Like I did six months ago.

I can say again and again that we searched, that I searched, for any trace of him. It doesn't change the fact that we never found him, or that we _stopped looking_.

They tried to take away who he was. They made him think he was insane. Now he finally gets here and I'm shoving him away. Maybe…maybe some small part of me wishes he hadn't come back. At least then I could convince myself my decisions were right, that this new me is the _real_ me and I can fool everyone so easily. If I admit it, I'm afraid. Because I know he can see right through me.

Running away doesn't solve anything.

I should be trying to help him back together, not psychoanalysing myself and wondering what I look like through his eyes. They nearly broke him and I ran away because I was afraid he'd find he'd been clinging onto somebody who no longer existed. What the hell am I playing at? He _needs_ me and because I'm afraid I need him too much I'm willing to let us both suffer?

I spent until the early hours of the morning breaking in and out of a fitful sleep. Full of those half-dreams that make no sense and evaporate because they're so ridiculous you realize you're falling asleep. I do enough fighting in the time I'm awake, I don't need it in my sleep.

I don't know how I found myself at his door at four o'clock in the morning. I just stood there, staring, not even knocking on the panel to see if he was there. He'd be pissed enough at me, why would he let me in?

So I got one hell of a shock when the door opened and he grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. I stumbled and only just managed to right myself before I hit the floor, turning to be met with his furious gaze.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me? You want me to think this is real? Is that what you want?" he shouted.

I was silent, in shock, as he grabbed me forcefully and kissed me hungrily. Before I knew what I was doing, my arms were around him, gripping him tightly as I deepened our embrace.

"…You're not Elizabeth…stop torturing me…" John whispered. Yet he didn't stop or release me.

"…Yes, I _am_…" I uttered, trying to convince myself rather than him, eyes closed and gasping for air.

We were on the bed before I knew what was happening. I didn't care about who either of us were or who we should be, only that he was here and he _wanted_ me. Badly.

He abruptly broke away, staring down at me, studying me, again. "…Elizabeth…?"

I drew him back to me, kissing his question away. "I'm here…"

I should have said something more. Maybe I should have put an end to it there and then. Should have told him to stop.

But I was very aware of one thing.

I didn't want him to.


	7. A Fine Line

He stopped her when he found her trying to escape in the morning, waking when she sat up, eyes scanning the floor for her clothes. John grabbed her wrist and hauled her back. "What're you doing?" His eyes fell to her wrist, noticing the angry red scars running down the side in jagged lines. "…When did you do this?" When she wouldn't answer him, he tried to pull her closer, repeating his previous question. "What're you doing?" 

Elizabeth ended up looking down at him, one hand on his chest, intended to break her fall. She remained silent, only making eye contact for a second before she looked away. After that, she knew she didn't need words. Words would make it worse.

"Do you regret this?" he questioned.

"Yes." Her reply was immediate, if a little quiet.

He let go of her. "Why did you-"

"Why did _we_," she corrected.

John shook his head. "I thought those aliens were the most sadistic people I'd met." He sat up. "I guess I was wrong."

That stung. Tears she refused to shed burning in her eyes, she stood up, putting her clothes back on as she retrieved them from the floor. She knew he watched her every move, which only made her want to escape faster. Elizabeth halted at the door, glancing back hesitantly.

He glared coldly at her. "Carson told me you've become somewhat of a officer. You want to be a soldier?" His voice was bitter. "Fine, I'll teach you how to be a soldier.

"I-"

"But if you start this, we don't stop, not even if you beg to."

Anger burned deep within her, though she couldn't distinguish it if was aimed at him or herself. "I can take it."

"We'll see…"

The door slid open before her, but she still couldn't make good her escape.

"Elizabeth?" John's voice had altered completely.

"Yes?" She didn't look back.

"Tell me one thing." His tone had a hint of desperation about it. "…Am I crazy?"

Now she did look back. Elizabeth glanced back over her right shoulder, sadly. "…No." She shook her head and stepped through the open door at the same moment. "…I am…" she said, so softly she hoped no-one else had heard her.

* * *

John next saw her standing in the 'Gate room, amongst a team of officers and civilians she was ready to head out with. All kit out in the correct equipment, uniform, right down to the P-90 she held in her hands. She might have looked the part, she might have be able to fire that weapon and stare coldly out at the world as if nothing affected her, but there was far from a perfect soldier underneath. He intended to prove that to her. If only to get the woman he remembered back. If it was possible. 

"See you in five hours," Elizabeth called up to the command centre, not catching sight of him as she turned and vanished through the 'Gate.

As the 'Gate shut down after them, John frowned. "…Since when does she do that?" He had assumed that her statement that she was following a team through had been a lie to throw him off.

"Since she lost you," Teyla said quietly. He hadn't even seen her standing there.

"She goes into combat situations?"

"She goes into whatever situation she deems she ought to," the Athosian responded.

"Is she crazy?" He was outraged that she was heading into such dangerous territory. Let alone the others 'allowing' her to.

"She is fully capable, Major," Teyla replied, chiding him. "If she were not, I believe Doctor Beckett would override her authority and, if he had to, physically stop her."

John paused. "…You know he can do that?"

She looked away. "…I have spoken with him on the matter."

"With regard to-"

"Doctor Weir, yes," she finished for him.

He waited for further explanation, only to see her head away from the command centre, looking back, expecting him to follow. Which he did. Swiftly.

"There was a time when we believed it might be necessary," Teyla continued. "We knew we could not stop her of our own accord." She smiled wryly. "She is an intelligent woman; she would have out manoeuvred us if only with regulations."

"'We'?"

"Aiden, Doctor McKay and myself." At his somewhat stunned look, she elaborated. "We too care a great deal about Doctor Weir, Major, though clearly not in the same manner you do."

John winced. "…You see that?"

"Most likely because we work together so closely, do not despair. I am uncertain as to whether the rest of Atlantis is aware of your…feelings…toward Doctor Weir."

"Things change." He sighed.

"As do the both of you," she answered. Teyla abruptly changed the subject. "You have been gone many months, Major-"

"You state rank one more time and I'm gonna-" he teased.

"Sheppard?" She grinned at him, playing along. "John. Perhaps we should…catch up…as Aiden so often puts it."

"'Aiden', is it?" John raised an eyebrow.

She blushed. "…It is a long story. Though I would like to hear of what has happened to you…"

"Can match your long story. Crazy aliens, false memories…"

"If it is not too painful to recount…"

He shook his head. "…I'll give it a shot…guess I'll be telling the Doc too at some point. Swap you for the 'Aiden' story?"

Teyla nodded. "If you wish."

* * *

He didn't even make it halfway through his 'story' before he was escorted to the Infirmary, after scaring the hell out of Teyla. She refused to leave the Infirmary, and kept talking to John as he apologised profusely, though she was somewhat thankful for the presence of Ford and McKay, as well as Carson. 

"Major, I think you ought to go see Doctor Heightmeyer," Carson proposed.

"Aw, come on, I don't need to see a shrink…" he protested.

McKay sighed. "This is the only time I'm going to say this, so listen up. You're a smart man, John." He frowned, as if stunned he had admitted anything of the sort. "There, I said it." He coughed before he continued. "So I think you must know you need to talk to somebody."

"But not a shrink-"

"After what I've heard of your incident just now, I think you do," Kate's voice could be heard from the back of the room. "And I take no offence at the 'shrink' comment…" She smiled.

John grimaced. "…Sorry…" he breathed. "Look, I know I'm not quite right in the head at the moment. If I start demanding to know who you are and start yelling for you to stop, then yeah, drag me back here, but I do _not_ need 'help' and I _don't want to talk about it_. If I try to hurt anyone, lock me up, but for the love of god, just let me get through this my way. Okay? If I try to cause damage to anyone, then yeah, but unless I reach that point, just leave me be."

Kate folded her arms across her chest. "Doctor Weir also refused my help."

He frowned. "You went to see her?"

"I believed it was necessary. As I do with you."

John shook his head. "…Look…I promise I'll talk to someone. But in my own time. I know I'm paranoid and I know it's gonna take time, but at least let me _try._" He glanced round at the people at his bedside. "…Please?"

Carson exhaled slowly. "…I don't know about this…"

"We can't very well _make_ you talk, can we?" Kate frowned at John.

"One would think you had behaved in such a manner so you would escape your half of the bargain." Teyla tried to ease the tension.

"You got me." John grinned for a moment. The smile faded. "Teyla, I'm sorry," he began again, "I really am, I didn't mean-"

"Enough," she assured him. "No damage was done."

He looked up at Ford. "I didn't mean to scare her, really, I-"

"Sir?" The young man set a hand on his commander's shoulder.

"…Ford?"

"What the lady said."

"…I see…"

The thudding footsteps of many boot-clad feet were heard as a group entered the Infirmary. Those present round the bed looked back to see who had appeared, apprehensive looks on their faces as they caught sight of them.

Elizabeth unclipped the P-90 from her vest, as did the team around her. "What's going on?"


	8. The First Step

I stared as the group around the Infirmary bed parted to reveal John. Why was he in the Infirmary? Had I pissed him off so much he'd gone and smashed something? No, it seems it's just me who does that, apparently. But still, why was he there? About to ask the question, I was silenced by Carson's explanation.

"…There was an…incident…" he began.

"I was concerned for Major Sheppard's wellbeing, so I had him brought here," Teyla elaborated.

"What happened?" I asked.

Carson looked back at John, who shook his head slightly, more of a twitch than anything. The Doctor sighed. "Patient confidentiality," he stated.

Well. It seemed like they all knew what was going on. Patient confidentiality? Everyone in the city but me confidentiality was more likely. Then again, I suppose he had every right, whether this was some form of game we were playing or not. I had hurt him, so he was going to hurt me. Were we really that petty? I wasn't sure anymore.

"Doctor Weir, a word, if you don't mind?" Carson started toward his office. "I'll deal with the rest of you in a moment," he said to the team I had been off-world with. Just what I needed, another audience.

"Sir, if you need anything, just give us a call," Ford said. "Or yell real loud down the corridor from your quarters." He grinned.

"I am sure the rest of the city will not appreciate Major Sheppard waking them up." Teyla nudged her lover and smiled.

John smirked. "Don't worry guys, I got it covered. Already free to go, seeing as the Doc knows he can't keep me here for more than five minutes before I turn into a five year old."

"Turn into?" McKay echoed.

"Very funny, Rodney."

"I thought so." He turned and headed from the room, following Aiden and Teyla.

"I hope you feel better," Teyla said as she moved away.

"...Maybe I'll see you at some point..." Kate mock glared at John as she left.

"Anything," Ford repeated. "Yell."

"Will do." John threw them a mock salute as he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

It was then that I followed Carson into his office, closing the door behind me.

"He says you know what happened to him." Beckett frowned.

"He told me. He told me everything," I answered.

"Everything?"

"Everything," I insisted, not mentioning the fact that I had run from him after he had.

"Then if you don't mind me saying, you're the one that's going to have to help him," Carson stated.

I wouldn't make eye contact. "…I know…"

"He won't speak to us. I don't have the full story yet and neither does anybody else. He went bloody crazy at Teyla earlier. She won't say it to his face, but she was afraid he was going to physically harm her at one point. He thought he was being tricked again. The Major says if he tries to hurt anyone we should lock him up, but that'll only make matters worse…"

"You want me to talk to him?"

"I want you to do whatever you can to get John Sheppard back."

Maybe I can get him back. I'm not sure I can get _me_ back.

I nodded and left the room without another word. John's eyes flashed open as soon as I passed by his bed.

"How'd the negotiations go?"

"Easy," I answered with a shrug. "Just closing them. I didn't have a great deal to do with it…I just wanted to make sure." I twitched my shoulders again. "You know."

He pushed the covers back from his bed and stood up. Strangely, he wore casual clothes, not anything Infirmary related. So they believed it really was all mental?

"Come on." He started for the doors. "We're going to one of the piers."

"Why?" I frowned.

"You'll see."

I followed him, glad I didn't have to make eye-contact. It made me feel unclean. After last night… Unclean… It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. He didn't make me feel that way. I was disgusted with myself. I _am_ disgusted with myself. I do regret it. For how it was. Not what it was. I mean…I've never…not like that…not that much…never…felt that…way…with anyone. Anyone in my life. Nobody has made me react to them like he did that night. And I walked away. Again.

* * *

"In the pouring rain?" I blinked rapidly as the raging wind sent more raindrops into my eyes. It's hard to look defiant when you're having trouble just seeing a foot ahead of you. 

"In the pouring rain." He confirmed. "You want to keep going off-world? Prove you can do this."

"Prove I can run laps in the pouring rain with a pack on my back?"

John folded his arms. "What do you think they made us do in training? It's alright for you, you can override everybody and say you're gonna go anyway, regardless of whether you can-"

He was saying those things just to get a reaction. Whether he wanted me to scream at him and refuse or drop the pack and stalk off, I didn't know. So I wasn't going to do either. I took a step forward, then a step back, hesitant. This reminded me too much of when the Genii had taken over Atlantis. And he knew it. Made to work in that damned storm. I was helpless then. Could I actually do this? Yes, I could, damnit, I wasn't going to fall at the first hurdle. I turned back to glare at him again for a moment, before I stepped out into the rain. I was soaked almost instantly. But despite the fact that I could barely see, I was soaked to the skin and I was carrying a ridiculously heavy pack, I broke into a run along the pier. If you could call it a run. This was going to be harder than I thought.

* * *

Bastard. Standing there smugly, watching me. Didn't even offer me a way out. Not that I should have expected him to. Smugly? Maybe that was a bit harsh. He didn't look smug at all. Every time I was actually able to see him, he looked concerned. Perhaps he hadn't expected me to get so far. After standing there for so long, he was just as soaked as I was. Still, he refused to leave. I wished he would. I'd rather he turned and left me to my failure than stood there and made me feel worthless. Failure? I had a choice. He said we wouldn't stop even if I begged him. I had no intention of begging him for anything. He was only doing this for my own good, right? He wasn't getting some sadistic kick out of it. So, I could just drop to the ground and refuse to move, or I could carry on, despite the burning pain in my chest, the headache and the ache in my knee that was sending shooting pains up my leg. I only had a couple of lengths to go, right? I must've been at this for hours. How pathetic. Hours? I was running back toward the city when I heard him call out. 

"That's enough." He sounded almost afraid.

When I reached him, I dropped the pack at his feet, if only so I'd remain standing.

He left it were it was. "…Let's head back inside."

I tried to hide the fact that I was limping, unsuccessfully. Damned knee. Damn him _and_ my knee. Actually, damn me too.

John stopped when he realized I wasn't keeping up. He glanced back at me, head tilted, waiting for an explanation.

I refused to speak. At least when I was standing still I didn't have to pretend I was still capable of walking in a normal fashion. Before I had the chance to 'walk' straight past him, he had one arm under mine, supporting me as we started back inside.

"…Thank you…" I mumbled, stubbornly.

"Don't thank me yet," he answered. "This is just the first step."

* * *

We showered together through mutual silent consent. It wasn't as if we had anything to hide. We'd slept together the previous night, for gods' sakes. There was nothing remotely sexual about it, just keeping each other warm, supporting each other, so tired we could barely stand. I was shaking from the cold, trying to ignore the pain in my knee, whilst he shook from…I don't know. The cold, I was sure, but I wouldn't care to hazard a guess at what demons haunted him. 

We fell into my bed, exhausted. We weren't even touching on the slim mattress…but then again, we weren't exactly talking either.


	9. Fight It

Elizabeth woke in the morning to find him gone from her quarters, having left no trace that he had ever been there. She sat up, wincing as her nerves screamed protests, determined to ignore them as she stood up and stretched. She nearly fell then, when her knee decided to give way and almost send her crashing to the floor. She grit her teeth and shook her head. Physical pain she could deal with. Whatever happened. But now she knew what it was like to wake up alone. And knew how her escape must have ached.

* * *

She worked in her office for most of the morning, running the city as was her duty. She had become used to performing the task alone and not asking anyone for a second opinion. It was about time that stopped. In those hours, she asked Carson whether they could spare more medical supplies to use in trade for food, and was silently amused that he seemed quite stunned that she'd asked at all. Elizabeth knew exactly what was in storage, what they could afford to trade and what they needed to survive; she had made every decision for the past few months based on her knowledge alone, and whilst she knew he couldn't fault her, she also knew it would have been more considerate of her to ask him. She had just always been afraid that he'd drag her into another conversation about how she was feeling. But on this morning, he cracked a joke and she smiled, a real smile that reached her eyes, not a grin of politeness or a token laugh. Of course, she had smiled in the past, but even then she wasn't sure how many of them had been fake. Elizabeth thanked Carson for his time and left his office to return to her own, burden feeling a little lighter. She should have done something like that sooner. Even if it was just asking Teyla how Jinto was faring…just…anything. Should've asked McKay what he was going to destroy next or asked Ford how many times he intended to confuse Teyla that day. She should have spent more time with people. She had sat and watched movies with them, played the occasional game, but she had never truly been there. She'd been counting the minutes until she could escape and fall into an exhausted sleep.

Halfway through scanning another report, the chime for the door sounded. Elizabeth didn't look up. "Come in."

Something about the silence made her uneasy and she was glad she did eventually look up, for a stick came flying toward her, and would have most likely smashed her desk had she not snatched it out of the air.

"Training continues today," John stated, wandering further into the room.

She winced internally. Her muscles were still protesting yesterday's run. Elizabeth held up a hand. "Give me a few minutes. I have to finish this. I still have a city to run."

"_We_ have a city to run," he corrected.

Elizabeth stared at him for a couple of seconds. "…I didn't think you'd want-"

"You didn't ask."

She suddenly wanted to snap at him. But instead, she shook her head. "You're right, I didn't ask. I'm sorry. I'll be there in a bit, just let me finish this."

"See you in rec room three." John turned away and headed for the door.

"Rec room three?" She frowned, blinking as she glanced at the combat stick in her hand. "…Wouldn't the gym be-"

"No." He gave her an all too familiar half grin that usually made her want to rush and hug him. "Rec rooms are bigger…" He vanished before she could protest.

Elizabeth set the stick down on her desk and got back to work.

* * *

True to her word, she was there fifteen minutes later, complete in change of clothing. She was nearly hit in the face with the other stick, automatically blocking before she struck out to catch it. 

"Impressive."

"If anyone throws a stick at me, I'm an expert in self defence." Elizabeth didn't realize she had cracked a joke until she saw the surprised smile on his face. She tried to hide the limp, knee still not at all happy with her request that she keep moving, and met him in the middle of the room.

John paused. "…Seeing as I have no idea how good you-"

"I can beat Teyla," she stated, almost proudly.

"_I_ can beat Teyla. When she's having a bad day. Just like _anyone_ could beat one of us if we were having an off day."

"Okay, so we-" Elizabeth jumped back, sticks crossed in a defensive pattern as he attacked without warning.

"Do this," he finished for her, waiting for her to make a move. When she didn't, he struck out again, realizing how painfully out of practice he was. He'd spent his time trying to keep a hold on his mind, not alien fighting methods.

Elizabeth attacked, forcing him backward a couple of steps, until she had to twist back and round to avoid being hit. He tried to sweep her legs out from under her as she jumped, ignoring the pain that had become a dull ache. Strange how that worked. She knew it would hurt like hell as soon as she stopped moving. They kept going, moving through the attack and defence patterns Teyla had obviously taught them both, before John began to improvise, tentatively at first, to see if she could keep up, then putting increasing amounts of force behind his hits, moving faster to try and catch her out.

She countered his attacks, concerned when he didn't seem to be paying attention. It became harder for her to deflect the strikes, worrying her when she realized she was concentrating on just protecting herself. Before, he had been letting her attack, letting her get near misses, as she had with him; now he seemed to be on an all out offensive. Elizabeth waited for another hit, using every bit of strength she could call upon to suddenly shove him too violently away and stumbling backward. She took up a defensive stance, eyes widening as he struck out at her again. There was nothing in his eyes. _Nothing_. Like they were blank. Like he was soulless. She couldn't keep up for much longer. Seconds later, she found herself backed up against the wall, and _still_ he was attacking, faster and with greater force. Elizabeth closed her eyes, she had no choice. "John!" She opened her eyes in time to see one of the sticks in her hands shatter as his connected with it. "John, _stop!"_ she shouted, desperately and with what she hoped was authority.

He was still, silence reigning in the room as his weapons fell from his hands with a dull clunk that echoed all too loudly. John stared down at her, wide eyed, eyes desperately searching hers. Fear. Of himself.

"…John…?" she uttered.

John took several steps back, gazing at her as she relaxed and set her remaining weapon down on the floor. "…I'm sorry…god…I'm sorry…Elizabeth…?"

She walked toward him, unafraid, and knelt beside him when he half fell to the floor. He wouldn't look at her, too ashamed. Elizabeth hooked one finger gently under his chin and made him look up. There were tears in his eyes that he defiantly refused to let fall. She'd never seen him cry. Not even close. Not even when he was overcome with guilt or done something he believed he deserved to die for. He wasn't going to start now. She sat down, his head in her lap.

"…They make you think you're crazy…you have to do anything to keep them away…just keep them away…keep fighting…don't let them touch you…don't let them near…you're crazy for not believing them…just when you think they can't hurt you anymore…when they've left you alone…you've lost your mind…and you can't get it back…can't get it back…get it back…keep them away…keep fighting…"

Elizabeth held him as he shook, whispering soothing sounds, eyes closed so she couldn't concentrate on how seeing his current state made her feel. She kept whispering to him, desperately trying to calm him down, afraid that she really would lose him. "…Ich werde dich beshutzen…und vielleicht…du kannst mich retten…weil…weil…Ich dich liebe…"

_'I'll protect you…and maybe…you can save me…because…because... I love you…'_

"…Elizabeth…?" The words he didn't understand made him start.

"Ssssh," she said softly. "It's okay. It's nothing…it's okay…you're safe…I'm here…nobody can hurt you…" _'Except me…'_


	10. Fear

What had they… Why had they… What gave them the right to… What the hell had they done to him? How dare they, how _dare_ they hurt him! I was so infuriated as I held him I nearly damned them aloud. But that wouldn't have got either of us anywhere. Even as his shaking abated, I was strangely proud of him. If it had been me…I don't know…whether I'd had training or not, I would most likely be in a worse state that he was. I understood they tried to break him, but something told me I shouldn't have been so sure when I believed I had the full story. As I said, I was proud of him. Maybe that's not the right word, but that's what it felt like. I mean, he was not only trying to keep himself sane, but was all the while trying to help me too. Not that I would ever admit I needed help. Except very quietly…in the back of my mind…in the same place I doubt I'm ever doing the right thing. 

He scared me. I've had him fire a bullet that barely missed me, and yes, I was afraid, but I wasn't afraid of _him_. For a moment, I thought he wasn't going to stop. Calling for help didn't even cross my mind, I just didn't know what to do. I know he would never hurt me, any of us, in his right mind. …Just like I would never carry a P-90 around, in my right mind. But that was when it really hit me. I wasn't afraid for my life; I thought he might do damage, but I know he wouldn't have continued if I had fallen. Don't ask me why I believe that, I can't explain it. I have faith in him. Like he has in me. No, I wasn't afraid for my life.

I was afraid he didn't care.

I was afraid…he didn't love me.

So that's it. I love him. I'm in love with him. When he was gone I didn't dare let the thought creep into my mind that I might honestly be _in love_ with him. Just some fantasy or dream, some foolish notion, words I never thought I would say, chances lost. I convinced myself I was grieving for a friend. My best friend. I wasn't mourning a lover, we were never able to be that close, so I didn't allow myself to fully take on the role of the partner left behind. Maybe I should have. I wish I had. Maybe then I wouldn't have thrown myself into everything, into this, to stop myself acknowledging it.

So what exactly went on a couple of nights ago? I don't know. We weren't thinking. Not that thinking is always required. Sometimes it's best not to to. But not then. Maybe he thought it was another illusion. Maybe he really didn't think it was me. If I believe that…I don't know what to think. If I believe that, I suspect its another excuse on my part. But it wasn't about love. It was about pain and despair, grief kept too long inside. I was in tears, for only a few moments. He knew, he noticed, and I didn't want him to. I didn't want pity or comfort, even love, I just wanted it all to go away. Erase everything. I didn't want to have to need and love him, I wanted him, but I didn't want his mind. I wanted him to _want_ me and take it all away. I didn't care. I admit it. I just didn't care, anything, just anything to silence the pain. He was the only one with a chance of healing me.

I think that's what hurts most. That I didn't care and I do love him. That I wont show him. Perhaps I can't.

I don't like having this power. I'm very aware of the fact that I'm the one person here who could do more damage to him than any other. I've already done it. Unintentionally…how can I be so willing to risk him so I don't have to experience the pain? He's supposed to be the one man I care about above all others, if I'm as in love as I can convince myself I am, and I'm more willing to run and hide than stand and fight him, and myself, for him.

As I said before, maybe one day I'll wake up and this won't be an act. Maybe on that day I wont feel anything at all. Perhaps that's an even more frightening prospect to shy away from.

He sat up, moving to sit opposite me, eyes still flickering this way and that, as if he expected something, or someone, to suddenly ambush him. John calmed after a few seconds and stared steadily back at me. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," I answered, quietly.

"I do. I should never have started combat if I couldn't trust myself not to hurt you. Maybe they're right…" he admitted softly. "…Maybe I need to talk to someone…"

"…Talk to me…" I whispered. I would have reached out to him, had I trusted my hand not to shake. I would have happily curled into a ball and fallen asleep, right there and then, emotionally drained and physically exhausted. "Tell me the truth. Tell me what they did to you…everything…John, I-" I stopped and looked away for a moment before I managed to look back. "Please."

He seemed to mull the request over for a few moments, staring at the floor, before he nodded, to himself; certainly not to me. "…They activate your memories…make you think you're home…then they just wander on in and everything changes, it just melts away into nothing and…it was never there in the first place…you wake up…" John looked up. "…And they're still there…you don't start accepting the 'facts' fast enough and they start hurting you…electric shocks…pain impulses…hit you…until it all goes away…until you pass out…" He shook his head. "…By the morning, any trace that they ever touched you is gone…they're all perky and happy again, until you resist…again…and again…sometimes they try to do as much damage as they can without killing you…as much damage until they wonder if they can fix you… Other times they just can't wait to knock you out fast enough, with as much pain in one shot as possible…"

…My god…no wonder Carson didn't find anything wrong with him physically…

"Why didn't you tell me?" I managed, stunned, voice barely a harsh whisper. "Why didn't you tell me that you went through all this?" I felt betrayed, made worse by the fact that it was all my own fault.

His reply was simple. "You ran away when I just began. How was I to know how you would react to this?"

I wanted to kill something. I wanted to wipe whatever race had done such things to him off the face of whatever planet they inhabited. Just because I defer to diplomacy and have a deep respect for life doesn't mean I don't have the same moments of blind rage where you just want to savage something. "Stop thinking about _me_," I insisted, through gritted teeth.

"I haven't even _started_ with you yet," John snapped back.

"Yes, you have, and you're finished."

"So I'm expected to talk to you and you won't at least respect me, _trust_ me, enough to do the same?"

"This isn't about me!" I shouted.

"It's just as much about you as it is about me! I don't know who you are anymore and I'll be damned if I even know myself!" he retorted.

"Then talk to me!"

"Not if you're not willing to do the same!" John stood up, looking down at me. "I can swallow my pride and talk to a shrink, Elizabeth. You can go around thinking you don't need anybody and one day you just might believe it. This isn't one sided. At least I'm willing to admit I might need some help."

And he left me there on the floor, all alone.

Just like I had left him.


	11. Rage

For the second time in so many nights, Elizabeth found herself unable to sleep. She was still suppressing the urge to smash something, which wasn't helping. Something about the whole situation told her she would have deserved a hit or two with the combat sticks if she had been unable to stop him. She was more enraged by the fact that her Major, yes, she loved him, so in her heart, he was hers, had been tortured nearly to death day after day. And she had had no idea. She had been suppressing the urge to mourn whilst he had been suppressing the urge to give up. If there had been any loose furnishings in her quarters, she would have had a good time slamming them around. How dare they! And how dare _he!_ He was the one who needed to 'talk', not her. Her pouring out her heart to him was hardly going to help him at all. Elizabeth muttered a curse and left her bed, not caring that she was dressed in pyjama shorts and a strap top, leaving her quarters to stalk down the corridor to where his quarters were situated. She didn't bother to knock; she knew the code by heart. She did, however, hesitate on the border of politeness and didn't just barge into his private domain. 

John sat up in bed, clearly as alert as she. He said nothing, just gazed across the room at her, almost expectantly.

She took a step into his quarters, just enough for the door to slide shut behind her. Elizabeth forced her hands to uncurl from the fists they had formed in her fury. "You want me to talk?" she questioned, evidently being rhetorical, voice deadly low. "You want me to talk?" she repeated. "Fine. I'll talk." She kept her features strangely neutral, taking a great deal of effort. "I was _devastated_ when you didn't come back. I was numb and it hurt like hell at the same time." She pressed a hand to her head. "I had no idea what I was doing. But you always said there was a time and place for emotions and that I should learn that if only as a defence mechanism. Well, I listened, maybe I listened too well, and here I am. Maybe I still don't know what I'm doing, but I'm doing my best. And if that's not good enough, then no, maybe I'm _not_ the person you should be talking to, despite the fact that I might very well be in l-" Elizabeth suddenly clamped her mouth shut and whirled back round, making a deliberate escape through the door. She managed to get nearly halfway back to her quarters before she heard him call out after her.

"Elizabeth!"

She reluctantly turned back to face him, barely masked despair in her eyes. "What?" she cried out, still uncharacteristically enraged, mostly at herself.

"You call _that_ talking?" John shouted.

"I call _that_ honesty, and that's about all you'll get from me right now!" she shot back.

"Stop _hiding!"_

She was suddenly very aware that most likely their voices were echoing rather spectacularly down the corridor, allowing more people to hear them than she would have appreciated. Elizabeth refused to answer, turning away.

"I can shout a hell of a lot louder!" he threatened, as if reading her mind.

She simply gazed down the corridor at him, torn.

"_Talk_ to me. Don't shout, don't run away and don't hide."

She remained in the one spot, immobile.

"You believe you don't need anybody and you walk away now. Just don't expect me to keep trying to get through to you."

"But…" Elizabeth began. "…You're the one that needs-"

"Help," he finished for her. "Not you. I got that."

She took a step forward, still hesitant. In a matter of seconds, she determinedly threw all her fears aside and walked to stand beside him, still feeling the need to glare defiantly across at him. Therefore she was somewhat shocked as he swiftly folded his arms around her and brought her to rest against him. Frozen once again, she couldn't move to even lightly place her arms around him, no matter how much she willed herself to move. Elizabeth stayed in the same position, head against his chest, trying to slow her heart rate, determined that he shouldn't find out just how distressed she was.

"…Calm down…" John said softly.

Damn him. They might as well have made him telepathic.

* * *

Half an hour later found them lying on his bed, facing each other, not touching. She was as close to the edge of the bed as she could manage without falling to the floor. 

"…Why didn't you tell me what they did to you?" Elizabeth asked, voice quiet. "And don't tell me it was just because you were afraid of how I'd react."

He was at least honest in his answer. "…I didn't want to go there again," he admitted, not making eye contact. "If I didn't have to talk about it, maybe I could forget it ever happened."

"You scared me," she whispered.

John flinched. "I had no idea what I was doing, it was like I was in a trance. I'm sorry," he repeated, earnestly. "I'd never hurt you if I had any idea…"

"Physically," she interrupted. "You didn't scare me physically." Though, if she admitted it, she had worried, in the back of her mind, about what she would have done if he hadn't stopped.

"I didn't?"

"No," Elizabeth insisted.

"I could've hit you round the head, floored you-"

"I was afraid I was going to lose you," she said, all in a rush, so she couldn't take the words back.

"…I thought I'd already lost you when I saw you staring out at me from behind a P-90," he answered.

She bit down on her lip. "…Maybe you have." She felt short of breath, trapped. She felt more uncomfortable by the minute, back at the 'scene of the crime' of their encounter several nights ago. He was so close…if she just reached out…maybe she could love him as she should have done the first time…

"Maybe." John nodded. "But only you can prove that, either way."

"Tell me-" She paused, getting a sudden flashback. Hadn't he said that they healed the wounds they made? Kept him on the brink of death? "John, sit up," she said softly.

"Why?"

"Please."

He complied, startled as she reached across and lifted his shirt, revealing a white scar running from the edge of his ribcage to the middle of his stomach.

She might not have wanted his mind the other night, but she certainly remembered his body. Elizabeth let go and looked up at him. "They did this, didn't they?"

"I didn't expect anyone to notice. I'm a soldier, scars go with the territory."

"Not ones like this."

"What does it matter?"

"Listen to me," she said. "You say you want to forget it ever happened. But you can't, it's not that simple. At least _I_ admit that. Every time you see this scar, you'll remember. You can't just shut it out. I know you want to block it out, and I wish to every god I know of that you could. It's like this scar; painful, but permanent. You try and ignore it and it's going to get worse."

It was John's turn to abruptly change the topic, yawning. "…I'm a little tired…"

"John…"

"I know, I know. Believe me. But you might want to think about yourself more with those words you just came out with."

"Stop making out everything is about me. You said this was two sided. Not just when it suits you to be commanding and in a superior state of mind." Elizabeth made as if to move from the bed. "I'll leave you to sleep-"

He caught her wrist. "Stay."

"…And…?" she questioned, voice soft, unsure how to interpret his request.

"Sleep." John reached to throw the cover over them both.

Elizabeth sighed inaudibly, displaying every sign of reluctance before she relaxed ever so slightly. She remained on the edge of the bed until he hauled her closer, not making any contact after that. She glanced across at him, his eyes already closed.

"…And in the morning you can tell me how you got those scars on your wrist."


	12. So Numb

What was I doing? What was happening to me? 

I was suddenly all too aware that any proper sleep I had been able to snatch since he had returned had always been in his presence. Not just his presence; he in my bed or I in his. That would have to stop. …But not just yet. I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity for several hours of relaxed sleep rather than fitful, interrupted half-shut-down.

I still wanted to take a heavy blunt object to those who had hurt him. I didn't think that feeling was going to go away for a while. It hasn't. I've felt anger in my life before, who hasn't? When you're just screaming anything, things you don't mean, blinded by rage you can't control. I always thought even then I had some degree of control. I knew if I was let loose on those aliens, I would hardly seem human. I've never wanted to utterly destroy anyone before and I've never thought I wouldn't feel remorse for my actions afterward. I know I wouldn't feel guilty if given the chance. That in itself scares me; have those emotions always been there or have I changed that much? I suppose nobody knows until they're pushed to the edge.

I woke later in the early hours of the morning to find him still sleeping. I don't know why I expected anything else, it was barely dawn. I was content just to watch him. He seemed so much more peaceful when asleep. Not relaxed. Peaceful. As if he were in another world where all the pain went away. I'm not sure if this is true, but I've heard soldiers are trained to switch off and just fall asleep whenever they have to, because one day it might just save their lives. Whether they're actually 'trained' or their body learns, I don't know. But I know they're able to wake just as fast, at a sudden noise or touch, ready to fight again. …I wonder if he ever falls completely out of soldier mode? Or whether it's ingrained that deep?

Knowing that he was likely to wake at any touch, I don't know why I did what I did. Maybe it was stupid. Or maybe I just needed reassurance. I shifted closer to him and kissed his forehead, not expecting a reaction. I didn't get one. He remained perfectly still. I didn't even register that at the time. I trailed light kisses down his neck before I moved to kiss his lips. I still didn't realize that he was all too still. I fell back to sleep, lying as close to him as I could get, head tucked just beneath his on the pillow. I hoped I would move in the night and not be discovered in such a position later in the morning. I remember smiling faintly before I shut down completely, able to feel his heartbeat and my own, and unable to distinguish between the two.

I awoke to sunlight streaming in through the ocean facing window, one of my limbs drawn out at an awkward angle. I opened one eye to find my hand in his, as he gently twisted it to study the scars running down the side of my wrist. I hoped he didn't think I had resorted to some sort of suicide attempt, as the truth was far from it. I hadn't wanted to die. I had wanted to live and ensure I was strong enough to become a leader whom even the military couldn't find fault with. I feigned sleep for a few minutes longer before I stirred, stretching and drawing back my arm, pretending I hadn't noticed.

"Morning."

"…Morning." I hid an affected yawn and opened my eyes to find him staring at me. I frowned sleepily. "What?"

John looked away almost instantly. "…Nothing," he replied, as if unsure of the proper answer himself.

I was reluctant to move, and so closed my eyes and huddled back down in his bed, slowly moving back to the edge of the mattress, hoping he wouldn't notice. Who was I kidding? He always notices everything. He caught my wrist and forced my fingers to uncurl, revealing the palm of my hand. I glared at him, not at all amused. Why was he staring at my palm? Why was he so interested in… Oh, hell. I still had crescent shaped marks in the palm of my hand where I had dug my nails in so sharply. That, coupled with the marks on my wrist, could say I had been trying to harm myself. I opened my mouth to try and explain when he beat me to it.

"How did this happen?" John twisted my wrist so I could see the jagged red marks.

Suddenly I didn't want to talk. I wanted to tell him, I did, but I couldn't find the words. So I snatched my hand back and got out of his bed, silently.

"Elizabeth."

I looked back at him, keeping my voice dull. "Get dressed. I'll show you. Meet me outside my quarters in ten minutes." I left the room without another word and hoped he wouldn't protest. I wasn't escaping as I had so many times before in his presence. I couldn't explain it to him. I hadn't returned to that part of the city since I had smashed that panel and fallen into a sobbing heap beneath it. It had taken me two months to get to that stage. I didn't want to go back there again, physically to that place or mentally. It was if I had formed a mental block that wouldn't let me back in. I needed those ten minutes to gather enough courage to take him to that area of the city. Words wouldn't have done. I would have been a coward if I had let my fears get the better of me.

He was prompt, damn him, but then, a few seconds more and I could very well have talked myself out of it. "Let's go," I stated, in a low voice, heading off ahead of him.

"Where're we going?" John questioned.

"You want to know how I got those scars? Then just follow me."

He didn't ask anything more and didn't try to make conversation as I paced steadily ahead of him, eventually turning down darkened corridors that led to another part of the city we had explored and decided to later use for quarters when we had the time to convert some of the rooms. Every step closer, I wanted to turn back. But I knew he would stop me, physically, so I had to stop myself mentally. I was a little shocked when the dark corridors lit up, reacting to his presence. Maybe the light would make it easier…though I doubted it.

I found the spot all too easily. The window to a small room with a great jagged hole cracked straight through it, shards of the cracked pane still on the floor. Some still, I realised, slightly sickened, stained with my blood. I stared at them for many long moments before the silence became too much even for me. I whirled round to face him. "I smashed this," I began, not quite focusing on him. "I smashed this and I couldn't get some of the shards out. Some of the scars must be from when it happened, the others are from when Carson had to force the shards out."

"How did you smash it?" John asked, voice quiet.

"How do you think? I hit it," I snapped, defensive.

"Why?" he continued.

"I was angry," I stated, much like I was then.

"Why?" he repeated.

I took a step back. "I…I don't know, what do you want me to say? I was angry, I hit it, it smashed, I'm left with these." I shoved my wrist toward him, trying to remain in control. Perhaps I should've run away again.

"Why?" John stared steadily back at him, unfazed by my behaviour.

"I just said!"

"Why?"

"Stop it."

"Why?"

"John-!" my voice hitched.

"Why?" he asked again.

"Because you were gone! Because you'd left me here to do this all on my own! Some alien planet had taken you from me and you weren't coming back! Because I thought I could convince myself everything was going to be okay and I couldn't! Because I was _alone_ and it _hurt_ and I _no idea what to do with myself!"_ I shouted.

He had his arms around me before I could fight him off. I stayed perfectly still, jaw clenched tight, determined not to let my anger turn into a weaker emotional outburst. I wasn't sobbing or pouring my heart out; I couldn't move. No matter how I tried to force a reaction, nothing happened. Even breathing seemed to be an effort.

Silently, tears fell from my eyes as I gazed out over his shoulder, unseeing and utterly numb.


	13. Real Emotion

Elizabeth couldn't move. If breathing hadn't been involuntary, she wouldn't have even been standing. It was as if she was trapped in some small corner of her mind and just couldn't…break…free… 

"Elizabeth?"

Even his voice sounded distant. She could feel the tears falling from her eyes and the more she commanded them to stop, the more they decided to escape her. She had absolutely no idea why she was crying, if she could call it that. Not a single sob or exclamation had fought its way to the surface. Elizabeth tried curling her fingertips and found even that was a great effort, one that she gave up almost immediately.

"…Elizabeth?"

No. She decided to ignore his voice. Enough was enough. He'd won now, got her reaction, got her to show further weakness before him. Time stood still. He still had his arms wrapped around her. Why wouldn't he just let go? She wished it was dark. Before, the sleeping part of the city had been some sort of hiding place. Now it was all too bright. Thanks to him. …So many things because of him…

Elizabeth had no idea how long she just stood there. Only that she suddenly snapped back to reality with a hushed exclamation of shock when he kissed her forehead. She didn't even notice until she forced herself to question what was happening, feeling him nip at her neck before he kissed her properly, briefly. She took a small step back, stunned. "…What are you doing?"

"I don't sleep as soundly as you think," John said gently.

She at least managed to stop herself from blushing, though she was uncertain why she had to. She didn't know whether it was embarrassment at having been caught or the admittance to herself that she had taken such action. Tears still ran down her face, which she angrily swiped away with the back of her hand.

"Elizabeth?"

"What?"

"It's okay to cry, you know."

"No, it isn't," she replied. _'Not in front of you. Not in front of anybody.'_

John moved to brush away the shards of glass under the panel with his foot, the pieces cracking and crunching as he tried to remove them.

Elizabeth watched, transfixed. She could still see the dark red of her own blood amongst the shards. For some reason, she didn't want him to move them and suppressed the urge to reach out and reclaim them. It was more than somewhat stupid, she knew, but somehow they were linked to her. He was sweeping away her memories without a care. "Don't-" she started, but fell silent once again.

He looked back at her, confused.

She changed her mind and nodded, looking away as he returned to moving the shattered glass. Take them away. There wasn't any point in her lingering in the feeling of despair and absolute grief when he was trying to dull the pain. It was selfish of her to think she had the right to. He could remove the shards, just as they had been pulled from her body, but he couldn't remove the scars for her. She knew she would be left with those for a long time to come, maybe her whole lifetime. Somehow that was comforting.

John sat down under the panel, back against the wall, the pile of shards a little way away. At least it had been a clean break, fewer pieces to hold further threat. He looked up at her, expectantly.

She sighed softly and moved to sit beside him, knees drawn to her chest, arms resting on them.

"…I always thought you, out of everybody, would be okay if anything devastating happened to anyone," he said quietly.

Elizabeth didn't know whether or not to be insulted by his remark. "What makes you say that?" she questioned, staring straight ahead.

"Because you're you. You're smart, capable, and, even if it hurts, you know when to let go."

She shook her head, exhaling slowly. "…You're wrong about me."

"How so?" John goaded.

"I may have doctorates and speak all these languages, but I'm _not_ smart. I might be respected academically, but I'm not _smart._ I do stupid things. I make mistakes. Some people are capable because it's how they've been all their life, they know what to do and when, innately, others are just capable of out necessity." She glanced across at him, eyes dull. "And no, I don't know when to let go. If I've proved anything to you, I think it's that."

He decided not to argue. "You have a beautiful soul," he countered.

"Everybody's souls are beautiful. Sometimes you just have to look harder to see it."

"You love without question."

"Like I said, I'm not smart."

John paused. "You're stubborn."

"I'll grant you that," she answered, reluctantly. Elizabeth moved to stand, when he gripped her arm, as if to pull her back down. "I have to go, I have to start the morning briefings."

He frowned, almost disappointed. "You spend most of your life trying to get people to talk…so why won't you?"

She clambered to her feet, pausing before she moved off. "…Sometimes it's easier to love than to hate…and sometimes it's easier to run."

* * *

"Major Sheppard has not been reassigned to our team." Teyla jogged the few paces to catch up with Ford in one of the many corridors.

"I know. But we gotta give him time to recover. I wouldn't want to go back out there so soon," Aiden replied.

"I am aware of that." She nodded. "But will he not be offended?"

"…I think even he knows when he's got to quit for a while."

"Has he spoken to Doctor Heightmeyer?" she asked.

"I don't know. I guess not, unless he's been 'ordered' to."

Teyla nodded, slowly. "Doctor Weir says we are to go collect supplies from our newest allies later in the afternoon."

"McKay driving?" Aiden grimaced, not wanting the answer.

"…I believe so…"

"Remind me to bring a blindfold."

She smiled. "I shall endeavour to do so."

"…Has the Major spoken to Doctor Weir?"

"I have not seen them together recently…nor have I seen a great deal of either of them around the city…"

Ford sighed. "I don't know what would be worse; somebody coming back to you who you thought was dead, or being the one coming back having been presumed dead."

Teyla's voice was soft. "…I believe they must be equally as painful…"

* * *

Elizabeth spent the day in her office, for hours on end just filing and filling out report forms, giving orders and examining reconnaissance findings. She felt as if she were working at half the speed of a normal day, distracted and unable to concentrate, wishing she wasn't aware of the ache in her heart. It was only when the lights flickered and she noticed all was dark around her that she realized just how late it was. Another day hiding in her see-through office. If only it were that simple. She hadn't seen John all day, not even wandering around in the command centre.

She loved him. She actually loved him and that was the problem. How could she help him when she was all too afraid of getting hurt? She supposed nothing could compare to losing him completely, but what if he didn't like it when he discovered she could never return completely to the woman he had known six months ago?

It took her two hours to work up the courage to be standing where she was. Just outside his quarters, terrified out of her mind. Elizabeth knocked gently against the glass and waited for a response.

"Yeah?" John called, the door opening automatically. He hadn't expected to find her outside. He put the book he was reading down and stood up, gesturing for her to come in.

Elizabeth stepped inside, jumping ever so slightly when the door clicked shut. She stared at the floor for several long moments before she raised her eyes to meet his, completely unguarded. "…John…" her voice shook and for once she didn't try to hide it, "…Make love to me…" she said softly. "…Please…"

He drew her to him, slowly, and kissed her gently, giving her every opportunity to escape, waiting for her to take the words back or make an excuse. She remained in his arms and gradually deepened their embrace, content to go slowly, wanting to love and be loved in return. Erase all the damage they had done before. Stop hurting each other simply because they could.

Just to feel some real emotion, no matter how painful…


	14. Never Stop Fighting

We lay entangled for several minutes as our breathing slowed, my head buried against his shoulder, eyes closed and gasping for breath. We had been so stupid that previous night. I felt guilty and ashamed, still wondering how he could accept me after how I'd treated him. He was so gentle with me, as if he were afraid I would break…but for once…I wanted him to see straight through me. So if I changed when the sun rose, he'd know just how much of an act I put on. I didn't want to be strong, I wanted to love him and pretend I wouldn't have to think about consequences in the morning. 

"…I'm going to wake up in a minute and find I'm lying in the corner of a cell…" he murmured, not relinquishing his hold on me.

"…No," I answered, wrapping myself more tightly around him. "You won't. I promise… Because if you wake up, so will I. …And you'll be gone again…"

That was it. I couldn't go back. I had to learn to live with the fear that one day I might lose him again, and no, he wouldn't appear back through the 'Gate in six months time. I would have to stand and watch him step through to another world and pray to whatever higher powers exist that he would come back safe. Would I find myself by an Infirmary bed, listening to the steady bleep of a heart monitor in a few weeks time? I always used to say he could take care of himself, that if anyone could make it home, it would be him. I don't believe he's any less capable, this galaxy has just taken on a whole new dimension of danger we've never encountered. And when we do, it'll be too late and we won't get a second chance. I can't do this…I can't watch as I let him wander to another planet that could take his life. Its hard enough knowing that I could be sending people I care about to their deaths, but the man I'm in love with too?

I can feel the difference between being in love and loving somebody. You can be _in_ love with somebody from afar, never tell them, or be with them every day, tell them and just stay in love with them. There's a difference between the two. When you're in love, you're very much aware of it, all the time, it almost hurts. When you love somebody…it's there constantly…but you don't think it, you don't live it and have to reassure yourself that whatever you feel is still there. You can be in love and absolutely adore somebody, but if you don't ever move past it, just to the stage where you don't notice it, you can't move on. Sometimes you don't even know that you love somebody. It's so strong, but so much a part of you that you don't notice. …Sometimes until its too late.

I rested my head on his chest and relaxed, his breathing already slowing to the rhythm of sleep. At that moment I wouldn't have cared if somebody had just walked in and discovered us. I was content and finally felt a degree of peace, determined to cling to the feeling, and to him, for as long as possible. My mind began to cloud as sleep took over. "…John…love you…" I uttered quietly, not knowing if he ever heard me and not expecting an answer. If he did reply, I never heard it, already asleep.

* * *

When I awoke he was gone. I wanted to scream in despair, before I sat up and discovered he was at the far end of the room, staring up at the sunlight streaming in through the multi-hued glass. I smiled faintly, berating myself for jumping to such conclusions. I shifted and took the lighter sheet from the bed, wrapping it around myself as I moved to stand beside him, silently. He looped an arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer to lean against him. 

"…I'm not in a cell…" John said quietly.

"And you're still here," I replied.

He looked down at me. "…What now?"

"Now, I never let you out of my sight again and I go destroy whoever nearly killed you," I said, in a jovial tone of voice so he wouldn't realize how serious I would have been, had I thought either answer was feasible.

"We're not through with your training yet," he stated.

I did a double take. Surely he was joking? But then, did I expect last night to have erased everything that had happened previously? I couldn't be that naïve. Or presumptuous. I stared straight ahead, tensing. "…Excuse me?"

"You still want to go through the 'Gate," John said, tonelessly.

"Yes."

"Then we don't stop. I said we wouldn't stop. And you started this."

Oh…god. Didn't he understand? If I kept at it, kept training myself to be a soldier, I'd never get back to the way I was? Even a little. I didn't want to return completely to my old self and certainly didn't think it was a possibility, but I didn't want to take further steps away from it. Or him. If it continued, I'd resent him for pushing me again. Everything would collapse.

"…I…ca-"

I stopped myself from saying those words. I wasn't about to admit myself incapable of doing something. He might have a stubborn streak that turns him into a arrogant bastard on occasion, but I could beat him at his own game. I showed him that already.

But that was the point, right there, at the forefront of my mind. There was a time and place for emotions and for personal relationships, often very little time, and sometimes they had to be completely ignored to function properly, even just as a defence mechanism. That's what I had been doing wrong. Shutting my heart off completely whilst all the time not letting anything that could hurt me get through. Yet by doing that I was wallowing in more emotional abandon than anybody had the right to. By making it a conscious effort, I made it worse. By not letting myself feel anything I had gone about everything in completely the wrong way. Sometimes you needed emotions other than anger and fury in the heat of battle. You had to have a reason to fight. …You had to know you were capable of feeling the emotions you locked away to get on with the job.

I narrowed my eyes and took a step away from him, turning to face him immediately. I nodded, once, silently.

"You're going to hate me, you know." John rested his hands on my shoulders.

"I know. And maybe that's what has to happen."

I turned away from him, gazing up at what I could see of the sky through the glass. "…Promise me one thing."

"Anything."

I glanced back over my shoulder, hesitantly. "…Never stop fighting me."

He nodded. "I promise."

I looked back at the sky.

…I just hoped it would be enough.


	15. The Killer in You

She couldn't say that the night had calmed her at all. If anything, it had made her more worried. Was she to behave in one manner to him and another to everyone else she knew? Should she expect him to treat her any differently? Elizabeth stared down into the ocean from the balcony, thankfully alone with her thoughts. She had started to worry that people could even hear her think recently. Especially him. Something made her want to take everything she had said back. She might have called herself weak, but was more concerned by the honesty she had shown. She couldn't call what had happened that night just sex. The previous time, yes, violent, passionate sex with no time for a trace of a thought to cross her mind. But still, her honesty yesterday evening worried her. She couldn't deny it had been love. 

She had done her duty and seen several teams off-world, welcomed some safely home. Decided she could manage to be human and have a civilised lunch with Teyla, even spent most of it laughing, realizing it was more from relief that she _could_ still laugh. Elizabeth had even made plans to sit in on what she knew was going to be a very long and very boring lecture by Rodney the next day, but had decided that she at least owed him her attention for a couple of hours for all the absent responses and escapism she had been pulling for months.

"Training continues, ten minutes." John's voice at the door dragged her from her musings. "Shooting range. No excuses."

Elizabeth nearly smiled. He was in full 'instructor' mode. What could have been a smile rapidly faded into a blanched, haunted expression. Learning she could use excessive emotion again had brought other…memories rushing straight back. She suddenly felt very sick.

* * *

She raised the weapon to hit the first target, nervously aware that he was watching her every move, from how long it took her to take aim, to how the muscles in her arms tensed, if only out of stress. Elizabeth knew she could hit the point she had to, weeks of training had seen to that, but everything faded into the background as she finally, honestly wondered for the life of her what she was doing. And not just that.

She had killed people. She was by no means a mass murderer, but it certainly felt like it. She had managed to suppress the guilt for as long as she had hidden the pain of being left oh so alone in a crowded city. Two people. Only two? One was bad enough. One was the step she had always sworn she would never take. As a child she had never understood the reason to take a life, and, in her protected innocence, had found it easy to believe she would never be capable of it.

Elizabeth took another shot, unseeing. It was an automatic reflex. So she could say now.

Two. Just two. Didn't even know them. Names, dates of birth, favourite colours. Nothing. Just people firing in the other direction. Trying, she supposed, to protect their own, just like she had been. Maybe she could make it nice and even and say there had only been two shots too. Somehow that was less shameful. Less to feel guilty about. One shot each, quick, painless deaths, merciful. Mercy. She used to know the absolute meaning of the word and knew she was capable of it. Two shots. Two people. No. Two lives taken by her. Not two shots. Rage. Blinding rage that had left her completely numb and dazed by the time she had stepped through the 'Gate. One had been so close his blood had stained her hands and dripped from the weapon she held. He had been the second. She had been too stunned after the first to move, almost to slow to react. The first had taken many bullets. Enough to make sure he would never get up to dare threaten her or those she fought to protect again.

Elizabeth didn't know what was worse, the guilt, or knowing she was capable of taking lives. She'd spent her life trying to save lives, not end them. The guilt was crushing, the truth shook her to her very core. So she ignored it. She had spent over a week constantly telling herself not to throw up. She seemed no different to anyone else, just as cool, calm and collected as she had been since he'd vanished. They'd seen little that could pass for emotion, let alone extreme. She could at least take comfort in that. Extremes of any kind could have tipped her over the edge. But she was stronger than that, and had to prove it to herself, for him.

She lowered the P-90, fingers tingling. Had it all been a game? Had it honestly been the only thing she could think of to keep her sane? Playing soldier and hoping he'd be proud that she could finally see past her heart? Perhaps she could have gone back. But then she fired that cart and ended two lives and knew that there was no return. She was vaguely aware of John moving almost silently around the room, rearranging the targets, blinking back to reality when she realized she was nearly boxed in by said targets.

"What now?" Elizabeth asked, the question escaping as a sigh.

"Hit them." John leant against one of the targets. "In a sequence. Get the exact point each time, even if it takes you forever to aim." He pointed at each target in turn, assigning a number.

She was almost insulted by that, but nodded an answer and waited until he stepped back and behind the area of the room shielded with bullet-proof plasglass. She wondered for a moment if there was a chance of it shattering if she hit it, but dismissed it and took aim for the first target of the sequence he had stated.

What did it matter if she could hit the target point perfectly or not? A bullet in the leg, arm, chest, anything could give her the second of shock and pain to run or fire again. Or she could be sadistic and shoot them so she knew they wouldn't get back up. More guilt. More pain. More suffering caused by her. She finished the sequence and looked back at him, expectantly.

"Faster."

Elizabeth didn't hesitate. She fired again, quicker, only stopping when she realised she was out of blanks. She retrieved another cart from the small pile at her feet, exclaiming in the back of her mind at the waste it must have been, and loaded it, completing the round. She looked back again.

"Faster," John repeated, arms folded.

She gave a loud sigh and hit all the targets again, barely twitching to look back when he pre-empted her.

"Faster."

Elizabeth glared at him over her shoulder, about to complain.

"Sequence. Faster. Now," he ordered.

She was swearing steadily at him in her mind with each shot, firing through his insistence that she fire quicker, ignoring him. She nearly tripped up, getting faster with each round, only pausing to re-load. Everything was a blur after that. Turn, aim, fire, step, aim, fire… Blood on her hands, no screams, just the awful silence of her own mind, how many shots again? Turn, aim, fire, step, aim, fire… Just the two? Or maybe more? Was she sure it was only two? Had she sentenced others to death with those shots too? Turn, aim, fire, step, aim, fire… Used to be a diplomat. Never take a life. Protect others when they couldn't protect themselves. Turn, aim, fire, step, aim, fire… How confident and superior she had sounded before. But she'd never held a gun, never fired a bullet. Had no idea…of what it was like…to… Turn…aim…fire…step…aim…fire…

Elizabeth dropped the weapon, bringing cold hands up to her face as she slowly knelt. She was a killer. God, she was a killer. How could he live with the knowledge of what he had done? She had defended herself, she had reasoned, so it must be the same for him. Right? Right? He had killed more than her, did that make his pain worse than hers? But he had saved lives…was there a balance she didn't know about? She looked up to find him kneeling beside her, frowning, concerned. There was no line between them now. She could never think her opinions or morals were higher than his. …There were as bad as each other… Except he hid his scars well…

She looked up, features pale. "…I don't want to play this game anymore."


	16. Not a Soldier

"…This isn't a game, Elizabeth…" 

I just gazed back at him, would have considered snapping in anger, had I the mental energy. "…I know…" I hung my head. "…I know…" I said softly. He remained silent as I slowly tried to piece myself back together in those short moments. I managed to raise my head again to look him in the eye, expecting shock to be shortly reflected back at me. "…I've killed people…" I whispered, voice hoarse.

John didn't even flinch. "…So have I…" he answered, just as quietly.

"How…" I couldn't find the words. "…How do you…deal…with it…?" I knew there would be no miracle cure, no wonderful secret that would make it all go away.

"…You don't…" He shook his head slightly. "…You learn to live with it."

"_How?_" I almost howled the demand, determined not to break down.

"You live it. You live it again and again, analyse everything, every second, everything you remember." He paused at my stare of disbelief. "Everyone does it. It's involuntary. Just when you think you're over it, you remember something else. Something else to question. Could it have been different? Could you have done anything else?" He reached out to brush away the strands of hair that hid my eyes. "…And eventually, you learn to live with it. You accept that that was the way it happened and there might be a million different ways for it to have ended, but it didn't. It happened and there's nothing you can do about it. You might hate yourself, and the guilt…" His voice dropped to below a whisper as his eyes became a touch out of focus. "…The guilt will be there for a long, long time…and that's something else you have to learn to live with…sometimes it even goes away…for short moments…"

I closed my eyes tight shut, trying to deny everything, reaching for him with one hand to steady myself at the same instant. "…Why are you doing this to me…?"

John sighed softly. "…I'm not doing this to you, Elizabeth. You did this to yourself. I'm just trying to let you see that it's not okay to be this way. This isn't who you are. There are some damned heartless people out there and even they couldn't go on the way you're trying to. You have a soul that everyone can see…not many people are blessed with that. People like me who spend their lives hiding away behind barriers and self defence mechanisms, we're trapped. Don't be like me. You have a heart that people should see…don't hide away just because it hurts."

"…I want it to stop…"

"So do I. I want you to come back."

"…Stop trying to make me something I'm not!" I snapped my head back up, glaring fiercely at him.

He smiled. He damn well smiled. "Then say it."

"Say what?"

"You know what. Say it and I'll stop. No more training, no more fighting."

Did this mean he'd won? That I'd cracked? What was this? Who won? Did somebody lose? What…so…confusing…

"…I'm not…a soldier…" I said softly.

"No." John smiled gently. "…No, you're not."

I just let him hold me.

* * *

It was later in the evening, when I was silently walking the halls of the sleeping city, when I saw Teyla and Ford wandering along the same corridor, hands twined together. I ducked into the shadows where they wouldn't notice me, out of habit. 

"I have not seen Doctor Weir laugh like that in many months." Teyla smiled, pacing steadily along beside Ford. "Perhaps she is on the road to recovery…"

"Yeah…" Her companion frowned. "I wondered if it was actually her for a moment when I saw you guys in the mess."

"You were present? Why did you not sit with us?"

Ford smiled. "Seemed like girl talk. Thought I'd leave you to it."

"You have very strange notions at times…"

"Well, what were you guys talking about then?"

Teyla paused in thought for a moment. "…I do not remember…I was too busy laughing…"

"And you say I have strange notions?" He grinned.

"…It may have had something to do with the experiment that turned you that unusual shade…completely…" she said, slyly.

Ford coughed. "I don't need to know what you were talking about. Really, I can live without it."

"I thought you might…"

I smiled despite myself and wandered from the shadows to reclaim my path. At least now I thought it was nice to know that they cared, rather than hated them for being concerned. Even soldiers had feelings; they just knew when to switch them off. That was my biggest mistake; I didn't know when, or how, to switch them back on. I was quite happy in the darkness, because it meant that I didn't have to experience anything that made me feel alive.

There were times when I had wished I was dead. It's not so shocking and its' really not such an extreme. I'm certain that at several points in their lives, everyone in the galaxy must wish they were dead for some reason or another. It didn't take the news of his disappearance and his subsequent status of missing in action for me to long that it had been me instead. The first time I lost people I ordered into combat, I would have done anything to switch places with them. The guilt was there, the utterly sick feeling, but it wasn't guilt that did it. It was the thought that maybe they could have done so much more for the world than I ever would…and we would never find out. I was here and they weren't. Do they call it survivor guilt? I remember I spent the evening we found out just staring at a wall, blankly staring into space, numb.

I can't decide whether the pain is worse knowing you sent them to their deaths, or knowing that you fired the shots that killed somebody. They both ache like something is trying to devour your soul. …Something that won't let go…for a long while.

But John is right. You have a choice. You can let it eat away at you, day after day, even if you suppress it, and eventually it will destroy you. Or you can make attempts to move on. Even if they're just small ones, like laughing with a friend for half an hour, even if it hurts knowing you 'shouldn't' be.

I can do this. Playing soldier may not have been the best of ideas, but it seemed like the only one at the time. It was the only thing I could think of to just push everything away. Turn myself into somebody who was strong enough to cope, prove that I could deflect anything thrown at me. He'd always seemed so strong. Even then I suppose I must have known he was constantly flicking from solider mode to just another soul. Everyone is strong when they have to be, even if its just standing up and whispering 'no' to something they can't bear. He's not strong. And neither am I. We're human beings. We're fallible, sometimes we make mistakes that can't be corrected and sometimes we fall to pieces. Others, we stand up and fight. You have to choose your battles.

Well, this is one I finally choose to fight.

I'm going to get the old Elizabeth Weir back.

Even if I have to drag her, kicking and screaming.


	17. Epilogue One

**_Three Months Later_**

She trotted down the steps leading to the 'Gate, where the lead team of Atlantis were waiting patiently for her to one side. Elizabeth looked back up to the command centre and nodded as the they began to dial the 'Gate, eyes following the pattern of lights the sequence made before she looked back to her team. "Ready to go?" She caught the continuous stare from John that had started the moment he'd seen her once again in full BDU's. He evidently still wasn't at all amused by the situation. She might have admitted she wasn't cut out to be a soldier, but that didn't stop her from using the training she had forced upon herself when she felt the need.

"All present and accounted for," McKay stated.

The 'Gate sequence distracted her again as the system activated and the wormhole linked. What the heck was she doing? They didn't need her with them. What was she playing at, keeping watch? Elizabeth glanced at the ground and smiled slightly. Oh, she knew what she was doing alright. Trying not to let John Sheppard out of her sight in case some other alien race took a liking to him and decided to run off with him. Ridiculous. Because it had happened once didn't mean it was certain to happen again. He was more than capable of looking after himself, and, she knew, if there was ever a moment when he wasn't, the rest of his team would kick into touch anyone who dared to harm one of their own. She was being stupid. Just because she was afraid and somewhat paranoid didn't mean she had to publicly air her fears by accompanying their team any time she thought she could. Sitting in her office quietly insisting to herself that she had no reason to panic would have to do. Enough was enough.

"Alright, everyone keep their arms and legs inside the wormhole, 'cause we ain't going back for them…" John grinned and started to lead them toward the 'Gate. His usual humour was becoming more easily and readily employed, and not as his usual defence mechanism. He had been returned to active duty and unquestionably reinstated as the leader of the first Atlantis exploration team just over four weeks ago and had so far showed very few signs of what would have been considered dangerous stress levels.

Elizabeth unclipped the P-90 from her vest, shaking her head, a trace of a smile still on her face. She handed the weapon to one of the officers on duty. "Actually, you guys go ahead. I think I can trust you to close these negotiations on your own, right?"

Teyla smiled before she looked away, exchanging a look with Ford.

John simply turned round and gazed back at her, unreadable expression on his face.

It was McKay who spoke up. "…Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Rodney?"

He really hadn't thought of anything past that one, questioning word. "…I…erm…"

She laughed quietly. "It's fine. I've got some paperwork I really should catch up on. You really don't need me on this mission. You go ahead." She looked back to John. "No bringing strange animals home or teaching people how to blow themselves up, understand?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Can we teach them how to gamble?"

She returned the smile. "Afraid not."

"Damn."

Elizabeth slowly made her way back up the steps. "Keep safe," she called down them.

John threw her a mock salute, McKay rolled his eyes and shoved him through the 'Gate, whilst Teyla laughed and Ford shook his head in mock dismay.

She stared back at the 'Gate until the wormhole disconnected, trying to quell the feeling of dread that was now commonplace every time she saw them, and him, vanish through it. She had to move on. Panicking about each person she sent through was enough; the urge to run after John every time he left Atlantis would lead to nothing but increased paranoia and ridiculously overprotective behaviour on her part. No. He'd come back. They'd all come back. …Until the day they didn't…

* * *

John found her on the balcony, staring up into the night sky, late into the evening upon his return. She had been present in the command centre when they had made it back, but beyond making sure there were still four of them there, all limbs intact, she had made no comment or even spoken to them beyond ordering a morning briefing. He leant against the back wall, arms folded, trying to figure out just what was going on.

"…I can hear doors open, you know…" Elizabeth stated. She glanced back over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised, mocking him, before she looked back out across the ocean.

He strolled to meet her and stood beside her, leaning against the railing. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"We actually did need you on that mission, you know."

She smiled at him. "No, you didn't. I thought…I wanted to think you might…but you didn't. It was just an excuse. We both know that."

John studied her for a moment, waiting for a continuation, a moment's hesitation or something in her eyes that would betray she was fighting for control or even lying to him. They had had screaming rows in the weeks that had brought them to this moment. Rows that usually ended in him getting dangerously close to a slap for the things he said to her, raging arguments when he thought it would be safer to retreat to the back of his mind and insist he was still being mentally tortured, but incidents that not once ended with them falling into the same bed to ignore their true problems.

"And like I said…I'm not a soldier. I might dabble in it due to demanding circumstances but..." She shrugged slightly and sighed. "…That's not me." Elizabeth frowned, concerned by his continued silence. "…That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"

"I don't want you to say what I want to hear. You never did before. Why start now?" he questioned.

"Because if I can tell you, maybe I can get myself to believe it," she answered, without regret and without the former hint of despair that had often accompanied her every word.

John's gaze rested on the gun strapped to her thigh before he shook his head and dismissed bringing the subject up. "…We did need you, you know. McKay put his foot in it more than once."

"I'd expect nothing less." She seemed rather disinterested, staring at the water, eyes glazed over.

He was about to speak again when she opted to first.

"…What happens if you don't come back?" she whispered, not looking at him. "What if one day I send everyone to their deaths?"

"I don't know," he replied, honestly.

"I do…" Elizabeth hung her head, leaning heavily on the railings. "…I'll go back…and I won't fight it this time. You know…that wasn't…this isn't…me. But it's easier to hate than to love… I never really understood how easy, didn't understand how people could do such terrible things until I realized it was because it was the easier option. Just throw yourself into everything, anything, as long as you weren't expected to love anyone. Anyone at all. Because that just makes…made it all…come flooding back…that you're capable of love…you just…don't want to remember…how…"

He moved closer to her, not quite touching, afraid of crossing lines and barriers that had slowly gone back up over the past few months. He also remained silent, not wanting to reply with something that sounded ultimately condescending or like an awful cliché.

She looked up at him, glancing sideways, tears in her eyes that slowly escaped. "Don't let me go back to that…"

John reached out and hauled her closer. "You won't."

"I might. I _could_. How do you know I wont?"

"Because you're stronger than that. You might have proved it in all the wrong ways, but you are."

She stepped away from him, suddenly miles of distance between them just by the haunted look in her eyes. "…Who knows, John? Who ever really knows?"

And she walked away.


	18. Epilogue Two

_**Six Months Later**_

I ducked and evaded the first strike aimed in my direction, and ducked again to avoid the second. I kicked out with my right foot, wrapping it round his ankle, a curse of frustration escaping me as instead of his weight hitting the floor, it was mine, flat on my back, air knocked from me. I didn't get up instantly, trying to catch my breath, and glowered up at John Sheppard, who smirked down at me.

"Gonna just sit there?" he taunted.

I aimed a swift kick at his kneecaps and sent him sprawling to the ground beside me. Exhaling, I sat up and peered over at him, feigning deep disappointment. "You just going to sit there?" I stood up, taking a step closer. I folded my arms and looked down with mock disdain. "Shameful."

"I thought it was quite clever really," John replied.

"How so?" I asked. I needn't have bothered. He pulled the same trick I had and kicked me in the kneecaps, only a lot harder. Evidently he was playing to win. And unfortunately I fell right on top of him and he only used that to pin me to the floor, gripping my wrists and holding them above my head.

"Give up?" he questioned.

I grinned. "No," I responded, shifting. "You see, if I was cruel I could jerk my knee rather fast and possibly cause some serious damage…"

John looked quite uncomfortable as that realization hit him and he abruptly released me. As soon as he clambered back to his feet I hooked my foot back round his ankle and upended him again. He hit the floor with a resounding thud as I stood.

"What was that for?"

"For not inflicting the pain I could have…" He'd taught me to be ruthless, even when fighting him, so I felt I had do something. I offered a hand to help him up. "Continue?"

"Yeah," He took my hand and stood, dragging his full weight to throw me off balance, and twisted my arm to my back.

I let out an indignant exclamation and tried to struggle free.

John tightened his grip. "Well?" he prompted.

I shifted my weight and considered actually kicking him where it would_ hurt_ that time. "If I just flick my heel up…" I threatened.

"What if I'm not human? What if they don't have those there? What if it's a woman?" he demanded.

I coughed as he tightened his grip further. "Fair enough, I'd be disturbed, and I'd have more chance of hurting a woman my own size!"

"And if she isn't?"

"Well then..." I braced myself. "I guess I'd have to..." I exhaled as I wrapped one leg round his, sending him off balance, before I ducked and tucked my head in, flipping him right over my head when I moved my weight, using his against him. "Do that." I really hoped the crack I heard when he hit the floor wasn't anything breaking. I took the step toward him to close the distance between us, wincing as he emitted a groan of pain.

"…You win…" John reluctantly uttered, dragging another breath of air into his lungs.

I sat down beside him, concerned, and waited for his breathing to slow. I still requested that he instruct me in combat and push me when he had to, even though I had little intention of ever using such training unless forced to. I had worn a weapon for what seemed like so long it had become a part of me…and that sickened me more than I could say. To feel lost without a mechanical piece of technology that would enable you to kill? What had I become? If I thought that was bad, how had I been before? When I wanted the gun? At least now I could say I was partially trained, enough to save my life, in several forms of unarmed (and armed, if I had to admit it) combat. I would have always preferred to be feared for the damage I could do, or repair, with words, rather than actions.

"…Infirmary…?" I asked quietly, when he still hadn't moved.

John slowly shook his head. "…I'm good…"

"I didn't mean to hurt you so badly…"

"Do me a favour?"

"Anything."

"Don't say that after you throw someone next time," he quipped.

I smiled. "Sure."

John paused. "…Anything?"

"Yes."

"Come closer."

I leaned over him, concerned, trying to check whether he was actually focusing on anything. Turns out he was. Before I knew what was happening, he'd pulled me even closer and kissed me. What worried me was that it was hesitant. I knew we'd put up a lot more barriers over the past five months, if only to stop ourselves falling into a desperate co-dependency we wouldn't be able to break out of. We hadn't slept together. Not even kissed. There had been hugs and brief embraces, but nothing more. I had said I loved him before, more than once, in other languages, when I was so confused and sometimes said the words because they were all I could feel at the time. But he'd never said the words back. Maybe he hadn't understood. I couldn't doubt that he really did love me. He had proved it more than once. Maybe I just never expected him to say the words. Maybe I was afraid that one day he really would.

"I love you," he said, voice rough and a strangely proud smile on his face.

Maybe I was afraid of today.

I stared down at him for several long moments, in complete shock. Then I realized why he'd never said those words. It had taken him this long. He'd only just been able to grasp that he wasn't going to wake up half-dead in a cell, having endured the longest mental torture session ever. I knew everything now. I'd finally managed to get what I hoped was every detail from him over the past few months. He'd been through hell. More than hell. I hadn't been exactly helpful. But I kept demanding to know until he gave in. Pushed him just like he pushed me. Sometimes it had meant his collapse into a mental wreck for hours on end, but it had to be done. If he was going to talk to anyone, he was going to talk to me. I hated seeing him like that…but it was better than the alternative. He had helped bring me back. I could only do the same for him.

"…I…"

And I knew I didn't need to say the words. He knew. I had known.

So I just kissed him.

* * *

Early the next morning, he found me alone on the edge of the east pier, staring out across the ocean. I'd left his bed before he'd woken but at least now I knew he wouldn't take my absence as abandoning him again. We'd made love for the first time in over five months and it was so much worth the wait I was so glad we had turned away from falling into bed to vent our frustrations with each other.

"Little cold out here, don't you think?" John stood behind me, arms around my waist, head resting on my shoulder.

"Just a little." I smiled.

"With the dawn and the leaving bed and the why?" He laughed softly.

"I'm here to do something important…" My voice was low and suddenly very serious.

"What?" he asked, as I stepped away from him. "Elizabeth?"

I looked back at him for a moment, before I unclipped the handgun from my thigh. I stared at it for a few seconds as I took the remaining steps to the edge of the pier, increasing in speed as I hurled the weapon into the sea. I saw it hit the surface with a splash and watched it sink with a great deal of satisfaction. I turned back to John Sheppard with a final sigh and a smile of relief.

"Now I'm free."

**Fin**


End file.
